


Reflections

by TheFierceBeast



Category: Being Human, Being Human (UK)
Genre: M/M, Shaving, Snogging, UST, musing on canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How DO vampires shave?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections

“What?” Mitchell asks. George rolls his eyes and shakes his head and goes back to looking at the TV, but as soon as Mitchell’s attention is focused back on Deal or No Deal, he sneaks another look that makes it impossible to deny a second time. “ _What_? Have I got something on my face or something?”

“No! I - I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then what are you staring at me for?”

“I am not staring at you!”

“You are so staring at me. Stop it.”

“You were staring a bit,” Annie says, when George turns to her for support. She pulls an apologetic face. George rolls his eyes. He _was_ staring, of course he was. It’s just, there are so many questions unasked in this house and how do you politely broach the subject of ‘what does it feel like to stand half in and half out of a wall?’ or ‘does the bloodlust feel like hunger for food or craving for drugs?’ when you know full well that any reference to your own… _issues_ , makes you feel awkward as sin.

“I was just,” he opens his mouth and then closes it again, and squints like that’ll help him envision a better way of wording it. “Never mind.”

“No, go on, I want to know now,” Annie says, inching further forward on the sofa.

Mitchell frowns thunder at him. George sighs.

“If you can’t see your reflection, how do you shave?”

Annie nods enthusiastically. “You know, I’ve always wondered that too.”

Mitchell looks between them with an expression of mild disbelief. “That’s it? By touch. _Jesus_. Can we watch the end of this, now?”

“Really? Don’t you cut yourself?”

“Annie. No. You get used to it. How’d you think blind people do it?”

“Oh yeah. I never thought of that.” Annie turns back to the TV, “That’s going to be the £10 box. Oooh! Told you so.”

“Oh, unlucky man!”

George watches them, watching telly. He eyes the thick scruff of stubble on Mitchell’s jaw. _Maybe that’s why he doesn’t shave every day_ , he thinks. Sure, Mitchell has given an answer, but something about it is unsatisfying.

 

“Is that why you don’t shave every day?”

Mitchell glances at him. “You still on about that?”

“I’m just curious. Is it weird? Do you really never cut yourself?”

Mitchell shrugs. “I dunno. I suppose it was to start with. It’s been a long time, you get used to it. I’ve not cut myself for years but I wouldn’t fancy trying it with a straight razor.”

“But you can’t see your face.”

Mitchell looks at him for a long moment and George thinks of the nothing he must see reflected in his eyes and wonders if he’s gone too far.

Mitchell says, softly, “No.”

 

It never gets any less weird, the reflection thing, at least not to George. He wakes up to his own bleary morning face each day, his existence is affirmed in everything from their chromed kettle to the door handles at work. Perhaps that’s why Mitchell leaves the bathroom door open; because of George’s obvious curiosity.

It’s not cool to watch your housemate getting ready in the morning but George catches a glimpse and it’s the fact that Mitchell’s still looking in the mirror that fails to reflect him that makes him pause. He can evidently still see George’s reflection though, through the open door, because he glances back over his shoulder and says, “Habit.” He nods at the glass. “And, y’know, it’s over the sink, I can’t really avoid it.”

It’s fascinating, really. George goes to stand at his side, watching the slow, methodical scrape of foam from skin. The weirdest thing is how his clothes don’t show up either - well, he’s topless right now, the smooth muscles of his back rippling with every upstroke - but the towel over his shoulder is absent from the reflected room, as is the white fluff of shaving cream, as if proximity to Mitchell somehow steals an object’s reflection too. He’s not thinking when he does it; reaching out, George lays a hand gently on Mitchell’s arm (in the mirror, his hand presses against nothing but remains visible) and Mitchell flinches in surprise and swears, thumbing a drop of blood from his throat.

“Sorry. I was just - the towel doesn’t have - and - I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s OK. Chill.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

Mitchell flashes him a wry smile. “I’ll live.”

“Would you like some help?” As soon as he says it, George feels like a total idiot. _Of course he wouldn’t. They’ve already covered that he’s got this covered._ But Mitchell lowers his hand holding the razor, rests it limply against the sink and his eyes get that strange soft look they get when someone’s being unexpectedly kind to him and he says,

“Yeah. Alright then.”

 

“You realise if Annie pops in here right now, how gay this looks?” Mitchell says. He’s sitting on the toilet with George bending over him and George says,

“Oh… _you_. Shhh!” Because he knows full well and he’s trying not to think about gay anything right now and Mitchell talking makes it harder to accomplish the task in hand and for fuck’s sake, ‘oh you’ isn’t making him sound any less camp and now Mitchell is laughing and in serious danger of an accidental laceration if he doesn’t keep still. “If I cut you it’s your own fault.”

“Sorry.” He composes himself, but his eyes follow George’s hands, methodically scraping away white foam in paths and angles from Mitchell’s jaw. He’s never seen him properly clean-shaven before - a close shave must be harder to achieve when you’re doing it blind. It’s strange. It softens his face, makes him look…

“You look younger.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Can you tell? I mean, like - can you touch your face and see with your hands, y’know, ‘hello, is it me you’re looking for?’” _Jesus, George_. Mitchell laughs, but it’s diluted with something a little melancholy. “Sorry. I’m being insensitive aren’t I? Am I? Does it bother you, not seeing?”

“You mean, can I remember what I look like?”

“Well. Yes, I suppose so. Do you have any photographs, at least?”

Mitchell shakes his head, leans back against the bathroom wall. “No. You didn’t, back then, not unless you were rich, or - I think there was one, maybe. One of me in uniform. I don’t know where it went.”

“We could look for it. On the internet, you never know.”

“No, come on. It’s not important.”

“ _I_ think it’s important.”

“George…” Mitchell closes his eyes. “I don’t mind not seeing. My reflection. After all these years, if it came back, after everything that’s happened… I’m not sure I could even look myself in the eye.” A little frown line appears between his brows. “This way I don’t have to.”

“Oh, Mitchell.” George isn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t mean to - well, anyway. You look good. Take it from me. Go get ‘em, tiger.” George bares his teeth and punches him lightly on the shoulder. His eyes are still closed but Mitchell grins and shakes his head like George is so ridiculous he can’t help but smile. “Go on then. How do I look?”

“I just told you.”

“Describe me. Be my mirror.”

 _You arsehole. When you smile like that, when the corners of your eyes crease up, you could make Peter Stringfellow swing the other way._ “Well, I think you’re just fishing for compliments now.”

Mitchell chuckles. “You started it.” He wipes some foam from his neck and looks down at his fingers, the white streaked with a thread of red.

“OK. Well. You’re the dictionary bloody definition of tall, dark and handsome, but you know that already.” George hopes he sounds suitably sarcastic and not bitter or possessive or anything weird like that, “You have a face that leads more than one of the cleaning ladies at work to describe you as ‘that one with the face’.”

“Wow, I have a face, stop the press!”

“You’re also a sarcastic prick. With really nice eyes.”

The second it’s out of his mouth, those Really Nice Eyes are fixed on him. George clears his throat, shuffles on his perch on the edge of the bath.

“You’re making me wish I could see myself. I sound great.”

“You’re… not bad.”

“George…”

He moves one hand, like he’s reaching out, and George doesn’t know whether to pull away or lean in, so he turns away. When George looks back at him the frown line is back between Mitchell’s eyes but it looks less upset than… _pleading_. He’s leaning forward and they’re very close and George thinks, _if you could see yourself, if you could look yourself in the eye, how could you not forgive yourself? Or perhaps that’s just me who could forgive you anything._ Mitchell’s Really Nice Eyes aren’t black close up. They’re a dark honey colour, full of light. His skin under the remains of the foam is freshly-shaved pink. His lips are pink too, full and parted. George leans in and without thinking, he kisses him.

It was only meant to be a peck, but it lasts longer than it should, with tongues and shared breath and both of them angling into it unconsciously, until Mitchell lays a hand on George’s knee as if he’s steadying himself, and they break abruptly apart.

Mitchell licks his lips. He says, “What was that for?”

“You seemed… sad.” It’s partly the truth. Now he’s gone and done it, kissing Mitchell doesn’t feel a fraction as awkward as he ever thought it would. In fact, it feels bizarrely natural.

“You’ve got shaving foam on your nose.”

“Oh.”

Mitchell wipes it off with his thumb, and then his hand finds its way to cup George’s face, as if it was meant to be. He looks at George as if searching for himself in his eyes. And then he leans forward and he kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure this has been done before but it probably bears repeating because shaving kink (let's just pretend it was a straight razor and not a manky Gilette Mach 3 like you know it was) and also I find Being Human canon stuff really interesting. Sorry it's really tame again, I can't seem to write them being anything but slightly awkward.


End file.
